


What We Have and What to Do With It

by Ecris



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: AU, Crossover....?, F/M, Fix-it fic, Fluff & Angst, M/M, Prime Continuation, This is me smashing these two series together and watching all hell break loose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5588698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecris/pseuds/Ecris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Rescue Bots are called home, they get a reality check. Team Prime needs all the help they can get, but it might be too much to ask for. They may have defeated the greatest threat of all, but they're not safe yet. Many dangers are lurking. All Cybertronians must come together to restore their home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Go Home

"Optimus died for _this_?"

"Blades!" Heatwave snapped, rounding on the orange chopper.  
  
"What?!" Blades countered. He shifted uneasily under the glare of his team, cowering a little. "We were all thinking it."  
  
His optics glanced back at the scene that met them the moment they had left their ship. A rusted, decrepit Kaon, devoid of any life. And just outside it, a crashed _Nemesis_ and the future site of Optimus' funeral. Behind them sat a few ships like theirs, with the distinction of battle scars and sheet metal plastered on over holes that were singed around the edges that hadn't been covered. Their ship was tiny in comparison to some of the battleships, but it was in ironically good shape.  
  
Heatwave growled and crossed his arms. "Last thing we're gonna do is discredit what he died for."  
  
"What quite a few bots died for. Most of our entire species, in fact," Chase added sternly. After a quiet moment when no one said anything else, he continued. "The Autobots have worked tirelessly to bring our home back, and we should be thanking them for the fruit of their efforts."  
  
"Yeah," Heatwave said. He looked pointedly at Blades, who glares back stubbornly. "Try to remember that."  
  
As Heatwave turns away, Blades glances back at the little clearing next to the Nemesis. Lanterns have already been lit, and a few bots are milling around and lighting more. A shiver runs down his spine, as he watches them. Even far away, their melancholy is pervasive. Blades frowns and walks after his team.

“I know that, I mean, none of us can forget that,” Blades murmurs. “But i just thought, you know, we’d have something a little more, in… in return for what we lost.”

Chase and Boulder wince, both glancing at an unresponsive Heatwave who continues to walk towards the _Nemesis_. “Blades…” Chase tries.

“We’ll get back what we lost,” Boulder promises. “With Cybertron alive again, we’re already halfway there!”

“Okay, yeah, _maybe,_ but I don’t get why Cybertron couldn’t come back alive _and_ healed. What good was it then? We lost the Matrix, we lost _Optimus_ , and now we have to fix the entire planet?” Blades huffed. It was hardly a fair trade. They all needed Optimus much more than a half-fixed planet.

Blades pretended not to notice as Chase and Boulder shared another look. He didn’t need the mockery right now, but he wanted an answer. Something to help him understand what everyone else seemed to accept. Neither seemed inclined to give him one. Boulder shrugged his treads and gave him a conceding look. Chase crossed his arms behind him and lowered his helm as they walked on. Blades almost stumbled.

For once in his life, he wasn’t the only clueless one. For some reason, weirdly enough, Boulder and Chase didn’t know what to do or think either. They were hurting just as badly. They were only following Heatwave’s lead.

“Heatwave…?” Blades ventured, speeding up a little to dog at Heatwave’s elbow.

Heatwave glanced at him before sighing. “Look Blades, we’re lucky enough to have what we got. Imagine if Optimus had died at Megatron’s hands. Okay, never mind, don’t-don’t look at me like that. Optimus made his choice, alright? Maybe it’s not what we wanted, but it’s what he wanted. And if I trust anybody, I trust Optimus.”

Heatwave looked back at his team, and stopped awkwardly when he saw the look on his team’s faces. Blades looked like he was shedding lubricant, and Boulder wasn’t far behind him. Neither was Chase, but he seemed to be in control of himself.

“Come here,” Heatwave gestured, then held out his arms. Blades practically bolted into the offered hug. In a few second, surrounded by his team and best friends, Heatwave felt the pain in his spark dim a little. The vents around him quieted and in their place he could hear the soft whir of sparks slowing down. He’d never admit how good it felt to have his team around him. This would have to be the only hug he allowed for a long time, to avoid suspicion, especially since he let it go on far longer than he should But he had a feeling they’d need all they could get.

With the majority of Cybertronians on their planet being Ex-Decepticon drones, Ultra Magnus in charge, the lurking threat of a free Megatron, and their beloved leader dead, the future was looking grim. He’d felt a like he could handle things on Earth, despite their random and horribly frequent disasters. It was different, being called back suddenly to Cybertron with the news that, well, they really had no choice in the matter. Heatwave had no idea what to do. He didn’t even know where to start.

They would have been totally lost if not for Ultra Magnus. Intimidating though he was, he was also surprisingly understanding. After they had landed, Ultra Magnus had commed them with a meeting time. Several meeting times, actually, with a request they come at their earliest convenience. “B Team”, as Blades liked to call them, were more than happy to get their pedes back on Cybertron. Salvage and Blurr had almost fled the Rescue Bot’s little ship, but no one could blame them. Despite their usual resilience in the face of danger, confronted with incredible loss, the Rescue Bots lingered around the shuttle, looking for reasons to stay behind just a little longer. Only a reminder ping from Ultra Magnus had gotten them out of their last little piece of home.

Speaking of which, a little icon popped up in the corner of Heatwave’s HUD.

Witch an awkward cough, Heatwave disentangled himself from the huddle. “Right, just got another ping from Magnus. Let’s get going, alright?”

 

[O]

 

If Ultra Magnus was given to emotional displays, his office would have been destroyed five hours ago. Today was trying him, and it might get what it wanted if it kept up (and he had a feeling it was pining for his eventual breakdown into madness).

It truly seemed that half of the former Decepticon army had shown up at his office and asked the same questions. he would have commed the information out over the ship’s intercom, but that was just another one of the many, many, many things that weren’t working anymore onboard. Unfortunately, each time he had to reiterate that no, they had no way to keep the Vehicons and Eradicons fed with supplies being as they were, and their demands for shelter would have to wait until the more… competent builders arrived.

Wheeljack was still trying to recover the synthetic energon recipe, which should have alleviated half of the ordeal if Soundwave wasn’t able to combat their every hack through the computers from the “Shadow World”. Raf couldn’t get him out- of the computers or the other, ethereal plane to arrest him- and so Magnus was forced to dig into the fuel room supplies of the ship for the high-grade jet fuel that the _Nemesis_ functioned on. Nearly engex, smaller rations had to be measured to avoid overcharged mecha botching up repairs. Still, accidents had only increased.

He was on his way to one now. Happy to leave his office for once that day, his mood soured when Wheeljack again surprised him.

“Hey Magnus, need ya to-”

“Not now, Wheeljack. I’m only out of my office now to investigate some dispute Arcee had with the Vehicons,” Ultra Magnus loomed at the smaller mech, hoping to convey how much he wanted Wheeljack to not be there when he had to “investigate”. “The situation must be taken care of with the most delicate consideration, and I do not have the capacity for any more trouble right now.”

Blessedly, Wheeljack stopped short. Magnus allowed himself a vent of relief before he felt Wheeljack’s servo touch his elbow. When he yanked it back and sped up he hoped it’d deter the persistent, bugging little scientist. No such luck.

“Come on Mags,” Wheeljack smirked. “I ain’t so bad. I can comm Bulkhead or Bumblebee to back you up out there if you don’t want my help.”

“All of you have more pressing tasks to attend to.”

Magnus stopped and rounded on the mech. “Wheeljack, I swear-”

He huffed a vent, avoiding looking at the shocked expression on Wheeljack’s faceplates (which was really just an raised eye ridge but the wide optics spoke volumes). “Wheeljack, please just find Raf, or, or Ratchet, and keep working on the Soundwave problem.”

Wheeljack shrugged, and his face fell. “Not much I can help with anymore. Ratchet’s pretty much decided we’re going to have to send in a team after Soundwave and bring him out.”

An option Magnus had been avoiding at all costs. Soundwave’s little known reputation as a gladiator had haunted both Wheeljack, and Magnus when he learned how much harm the communications officer had inflicted. Somehow, he knew, Soundwave would use the “Shadow World” to his advantage and whoever they sent in after him would have little chance of accomplishing their task. At least the likelihood they would survive was higher. But that small tidbit did nothing to help the pressure welling in his spark. They couldn’t afford to lose anyone else, but they _needed_ that synthetic energon recipe.

“And Magnus?” Wheeljack had a ridge raised, and ULtra Magnus tried to ignore what that look might mean.

“Yes, Wheeljack.”

“Maybe let Bumblebee do some of the administrative work, yeah?”

“Wheeljack, just because Bumblebee managed to-”

“It’s more than that Mags. He’s ready for a little more, and we could definitely use the help. You could really use the help.”

Ultra Magnus blinked. Wheeljack frowned at him, sullen but stubborn. Magnus was surprised to see that Wheeljack cared so much. Then again, he supposed, he was their last form of authority, and it would do them so much more harm if he were to fail, or suffer a systems crash. Wheeljack was worried that things would take a turn for the worse.

“I will consider giving Bumblebee more responsibility,” Ultra Magnus promised. He wished he could promise much more, because it seemed that did nothing to alleviate Wheeljack’s worries. He was still frowning when he nodded and bid Magnus good luck.

Wheeljack should have bid him great luck. When he finally got to the… situation, Arcee had her blaster pointed at three Vehicons, who looked halfway between affronted and not caring about what the Autobots thought of them anymore.

“Arcee, weapons down,” Magnus saved time by transforming as he rolled up to Arcee’s point of view, standing between her and the vehicons.

“Ultra Magnus, I’m not letting ‘cons near Optimus’s funeral. They have no right to be here.”

Magnus fumbled. That’s where they were? As he looked around, he realized it was the truth. Somehow he’d managed to forget that the location where Optimus’s funeral was to be held was right next to the Well of Allsparks, where Arcee had requested backup and Bulkhead had asked him to “please help”. He shook himself and tried to refocus his thoughts. Vehicons. Three of them, at the funeral site. Arcee so opposed she was pointing her blasters.

“Arcee,” Magnus drew himself up and from his quickly dwindling well of patience, “the last thing we need is for more shots to be fired, especially upon sacred ground. Weapons. Down.”

As Arcee battled with her own stubborn will and his command, Magnus glanced back at the Vehicons. They seemed slightly overwhelmed by his presence, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to, and he was thankful that they didn’t seem to be as combative as Arcee.

“No Magnus.” Ultra Magnus’s helm whipped back to the small warrior. She’d put her weapons away, but not the fire in her optics. “They don’t deserve to be here, after what they did. After what their leader did.”

“Do you think we can help that?” One of the vehicons spoke up.

“What about what _you_ did? Huh?” Another one stepped forward and tried to glare around Magnus’s midsection at Arcee.

“A lot less than _your ilk,_ ‘con.”

“A lot more!!” The first one marched past Magnus. “Your Vehicon kill count is in the hundreds! We’re nothing more than cannon fodder to you!”

“And you’ll take the first chance to throw everything we worked for under so you can go crawling back to Megatron!”

Magnus blinked as the Vehicon wound it’s fist, pulling back quickly and aiming for Arcee’s throat cables. In an instant, the clang of metal filled the holy ground. The Vehicon’s servo was locked tight in Magnus’s grasp. it was almost silent save for Arcee stumbling, trying to stop a dodge she didn’t need.

Magnus heaved a vent and turned his every anger he had felt that morning into a glare that aimed he like a blaster at the Vehicon. “There will be no more bloodshed. Especially not here.”

He got a whimper in response, and two nods from the other Vehicons who were all but leaving their partner.

“Especially not from Autobots,” he growled out, turning towards Arcee. She was more immune to his rage, but he knew he had made his point when she turned her helm down and her optics dimmed.

“Everything okay?”

A new voice broke the tense silence. Magnus released the Vehicon, who staggered back to his friends. He looked up to see the Rescue Bots, looking smaller than ever out in the open and next to the Vehicons, who, as small as they were, towered over the team. A quick scan through his memory and their profiles helped Magnus regain himself.

“As well as can be expected, Heatwave,” Magnus vented.

The rescue team stepped forward, following their leader as he replied. “Guess that about sums things up on this side of Cybertron?”

Magnus looked from Arcee, to the retreating Vehicons, to Bulkhead (whom he honestly had not noticed at all, silently lighting lanterns and keeping an eye on things), back to the Rescue Bots. Nothing was going well, it seemed, and right now he didn’t have the energy to make up enough excuses to make it seem like he had things together.

“I suppose it does,” he acquiesced, and motioned for them to follow as he started to make his way back to the _Nemesis_. “We’ll head back to the ship for now to discuss the situation here, there is much to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha what is this??? Where's the Dratchet??
> 
> Yeah I don't have a good answer for that.
> 
> There have been a lot of renditions and headcanons about what happens after the TFP cliffhanger, and this is my mind coming up with my own answer when I added the Rescue Bots to the mixture. I'm not exactly sure where this is going, but just to warn you, it will probably be more angst than fluff.
> 
> Yes, there will be BumbleBlades. I'm mostly writing this for the BumbleBlades. There just needs to be more of these two and dammit I'm gonna try my hand at it. That being said, this won't be a short fic. I'm not sure when I'll update or when. The last time I wrote something large was my first fanfic for Transformers (and it was a horrid self-insert so I never finished). I'm a little nervous about starting a big project because Ive only written drabbles for years now. But I hope to be keeping at this fic! Leave some kudos or comments below and let me know what you think!


	2. Home in a Year

Magnus’s dark office was a quiet, almost fitting place to grieve. Its owner sat just as somberly, patient as he let Heatwave’s team take in his account of the events. If anyone’s optics sparked, or if visors were put up to hide them, not one of them saw. 

“Thank you for taking the time to tell us,” Chase recovered first. Ultra Magnus dipped his helm, and Chase continued. “I assume you’ll be taking over as commander of the Autobots?”

Magnus vented. “No. As a matter of fact, the Autobots have disbanded. Team Prime has voted unanimously to get rid of our official military force in order to best found new peace on Cybertron. We’ll be operating informally under the old military laws until a new government can be founded. Unfortunately, that won’t be anytime soon.”

“and everyone just agreed to that?” Heatwave scoffed. “Can’t imagine everyone being happy with that, considering what we just saw.”

Magnus stiffened and turned away from the group, before realizing his gaze had nowhere else to go other than his chaotic mess of datapads. He looked back quickly, as if the sight burned. “For some it was a reluctant decision,” Ultra Magnus admitted, venting. “Though in the end, we al seem to agree that it’s what Optimus would have wanted.”

Chase fidgeted in the corner of his vision. “What about the Decepticons? Without Megatron, what do they intend?”

“That situation is more complicated than you know,” Magnus rumbled. “After Unicron had been… extracted from Megatron’s body, Megatron claimed that the Decepticons were ’no more’. However, none of us trust his word, and both he and Starscream are lurking somewhere, most likely still on Cybertron. We can’t know their plans, or the Predaking’s, for that matter. for now, we try to be fair to his soldiers. Some have joined us, but others are stubborn and unwilling to move on. If either of their leaders were to return, doubtlessly they will return to the Decepticons.”

The Rescue Bots exchanged fearful looks, and it abruptly struck Ultra Magnus that these mechs had never had to worry about Decepticons. Their biggest threat was anything Earth’s nature could throw at him. Which, if he were honest with himself, was no threat to be taken lightly, considering what Earth’s crust was hiding. But these bots had never faced a Decepticon in battle. Magnus doubted even now if they really understood the gravity of the situation- being separated from the war, how could they know how deeply the hatred ran? How much energon Magnus feared would be spilled before they could restore peace.

Suddenly, it became glaringly apparent how short the small team of Rescue Bots were. They were almost more similar in size to Arcee than Bumblebee. With the critical optic of a commander in war, he reassessed them, as potential soldiers. His shut his optics as his processor led him to the same conclusion his spark told him. Inwardly he cringed.

He almost regretted taking them away from their safe little haven on Earth, before he remembered his own soldiers. His own family, as Optimus had said. There was no way they could defend themselves and work on the restoration. If the Rescue Bots could find a base and begin to rebuild its city, Team Prime could focus on protecting the wreckage of the  _ Nemesis _ if Decepticons arrived before they were done. Even if they only set up the first infrastructures, so they could establish themselves, it’d be easier to fend of Decepticons if the need arose.

Whether or not the Rescue Bots team would agree to help, knowing the danger… He knew they were brave sparks, but again, he did not know if they really knew what the word “Decepticon” meant.

“So,” Boulder’s soft voice pressed into the silence. “There’s no way of telling what’s going to happen.” He sounded scared, but determined. Heatwave set his shoulders into a straight line and Blades lifted his jaw, reflecting in their frames what Magnus could hear in Boulder’s words.

“No,” Magnus affirmed somberly. At his words, he expected to see the fight leave them. But Heatwave’s optics set into a hard stare, and he glimpsed Chase’s small servos tighten into a fist. He would have smiled if the mechs didn’t still seem so small. That these mechs were so important to their survival scared him. 

“We need to find a base where we can begin to restore Cybertron. Right now, our soldiers are trying to safeguard the  _ Nemesis _ , instead of out scouting for a better site.”

“That’s why you called us out here?” Heatwave demanded. “Scouting?”

Magnus bristled. “Mundane a task as it is, without the Omega Lock, Cybertron is just as hazardous as it was when it was a warzone, perhaps more so now that it’s had decivorns to rust in peace. Your team is more than capable of handling any trouble that old battlefields may pose. When you find a city, you are the most knowledgeable of us on safety regulations and building; you will be able to tell which city is the best candidate.”

“Magnus, sir,” Heatwave interjected. “I don’t think you need us just to do some scouting.”

“Your abilities and presence won’t be wasted here,” Magnus grumbled. “Once the base is found, we will need a team to restore it.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Heatwave snapped, his voice rising. “Restore it on our own? Ultra Magnus, with all due respect, we don’t want to stay on Cybertron for the next vorn trying to rebuild an entire city. We’re needed on Earth.” 

A mumbling of general consensus with their leader spread throughout the bots. Magnus drew himself up in an attempt to quiet them, to no effect. He reset his vocalizer to higher level, and interrupted him.

“Heatwave,” Magnus grit through his teeth. “Rescue Bots.”

They quieted almost immediately, though Heatwave looked as if the only thing holding him back was Magnus’s rank. Ultra Magnus could tell he would be another headache if he didn’t speak carefully. the last thing he needed was for the Rescue Bots to return to Earth.

“I will not keep you from Griffin rock,” Magnus reassured them, “but your expertise is needed here. If your humans can survive for the hundred thousands years they’ve lived alone, they can surely live without you for a few years. We need your help to rebuild our home.”

“As much as we’d like to stay, Ultra Magnus, sir,” Blades stumbled, trying to interject as softly as possible, “our partners need us. And we need them. They’re our friends, we can’t just leave them behind. Humans don’t really live as long as Cybertronians. I don’t want to go back to Earth to find that they’re not even around anymore.”

Ultra Magnus frowned as his spark pulsed with sympathy. He had almost forgotten how horrifyingly short human’s lives were, after seeing what they could do it seemed almost ironic. To the Rescue Bots, however, he suspected it might be something too hard to forget. Chase and Boulder laid comforting hands on their teammate’s shoulder. Heatwave seemed to lose his fire as Blades shut his optics, accepting the comfort.

“That’s not going to happen, Blades,” Heatwave promised lowly. His gaze shot up to Ultra Magnus, but his voice was more respectful than the commander expected. “Magnus, we can’t stay that long.”

“Sir, perhaps if we can find a suitable city for rehabilitation, we’ll only need to stay for several months at most. Our building capabilities may need adjusting to the materials available here on Cybertron, but if we can organize help with the other Autobots, I’m sure we’ll be able to build a capable base in a short amount of time.”

“We’ll need more than a base,” Magnus admitted reluctantly. “Two ships have already hailed the  _ Nemesis _ and they’ll need accommodations.”

“You can’t expect us to build an entire city,” Heatwave almost pleaded.

“Of course not!”

The Rescue Bots blinked up at him. Ultra Magnus grunted and shifted in place, letting his arms fall to his sides. “That is, while a few years may be an inconvenience to your time on Earth, I would not have asked you to come to Cybertron if your assistance was not absolutely necessary. If there is no shelter for returning Cybertronians, Decepticons will take it as a sign of weakness. While I have no intention of starting any more wars, hope to Primus they do not. We are on shakier ground than you know. If the Decepticons think we are not strong enough to protect and serve our people they will use that against us. It’s bad enough we’re running dangerously low on energon, we need a base of operations that isn’t some crash-landed Decepticon warship!”

The mechs in front of him had shrunk back, and Magnus realized he had been looming. He backed up a step, and reset his vocalizer in admonishment. Chase shared a look with Heatwave, who crossed his arms and shrugged. The cop bot cleared his vocalizer of static and looked around at his team, who looked back at him helplessly.

“Orders are orders,” Chase acquiesced, returning his gaze to Heatwave.

The mechs turned towards their leader, whose glare was focused on Magnus, who recoiled inwardly. If he had been Optimus, the Rescue Bots would have agreed right out. If he had been leading like Optimus, he would have been able to convince them. 

But he was not Optimus, and instead he stood a bolt’s length away from the team leaving. Heatwave stood in front of his team as if Magnus was going to take them away. They all looked up at him with distrust, and it made his spark swirl in its casing uneasily. 

”Rescue Bots, forgive me,” Ultra Magnus conceded with some difficulty. “I’m not used to leading the way Optimus has, I don’t know what his tactics were. How he would have helped you. But we cannot do this alone.”

Each Rescue bot looked at him in surprise, and Heatwave seemed flabbergasted. The strange jaw on his faceplates was slack, and Blades blinked up at Magnus and then to his leader, then back to Magnus. 

“Please,” Magnus blurted, at a loss for what else to say. If he had to beg, so be it. “I only ask for a year.”

There was some more shuffling as a comm activated between the four. Magnus could feel it buzzing against his plating, and he clamped his armour tight to his form. Embarrassed and at the mercy of mechs he hardly knew, he felt more impotent than he had since arriving on Cybertron.

“We’ll be able to check up on Griffin Rock, right?” Boulder ventures, speaking out in the middle of commspeak.

Magnus nods. “Of course.” 

“Alright,” Heatwave backs away from their little hustle. “One year, and then we go home.”

The other Rescue Bots don’t look too pleased about this, but they hardly seemed insubordinate. A great weight is lifted from Magnus’s shoulders and he exvents as he opens the door for them. As each small mech leaves, Magnus’s processor returns to his agenda. His list is still long, but he can trust the Rescue Bots. 

Remembering his agenda, he adds just as they exit, “The memorial starts at dawn.”

The faceplates of the mech in front of him turn away almost in unison. Grief is heavy once again, and it’s Blades who thanks him softly before they turn to leave.

As Ultra Magnus’s door slides shut, Heatwave vents in sharply. “One year to build an entire base.”

“It would be prudent to start as soon as possible,” Chase suggests, holding his hand up like his idea.

“ But it’s already nighttime,” Blades points out, “and we don’t even know where to start.”

Chase’s hand falls sullenly. 

“Maybe we can ask one of Team Prime to guide us?” Boulder helps.

“Where do we find  _ them _ ?” Blades pouts as they turn into another empty intersection.

“Easy,” Heatwave mutters. “Find the bar.”


End file.
